


The Shadow Boy and the Firebird

by kyrilu



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Fairy Tale Elements, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Mystery, Post-Movie 1: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, Recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-22 21:39:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10705650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrilu/pseuds/kyrilu
Summary: How Credence Barebone learned to fly.





	The Shadow Boy and the Firebird

It was two weeks into Credence's summer stay at Hogwarts when Fawkes started talking to him.

Credence thought he was going mad at first. Maybe his loneliness was getting to him--because he was a bit lonely in the mostly empty castle, since his magic lessons with Professor Dumbledore occurred only several times a week and Dumbledore specifically treated him in an oddly distant manner. And Modesty was always slipping off to the Hogwarts kitchens to talk to the strange bug-eyed house elves.

“Shadow boy,” squawked the phoenix, very clearly, and Credence nearly jumped out of his skin.

“I didn't know you could talk,” he said.

Fawkes hadn't spoken anytime earlier. Credence spent most of his days wandering the Hogwarts castle grounds with Fawkes silently trailing behind him.

For some reason, whenever Fawkes lit his wings ablaze, Credence didn’t get burned. Fawkes liked it when Credence helped him preen in spots he couldn’t reach, rubbing vivid bright red feathers that sometimes crackled with flames.

Credence found that he liked the company.

“Of course I can talk,” Fawkes said, and Credence noticed there was a musical lilt to his voice. “But it seems like you're the only one who can understand me and you can touch me when I light my feathers up. I think there's something that draws fire to darkness, shadow boy. Old magic.”

“Oh,” said Credence, who was very new to the wizarding world and didn't know much about it. Dumbledore had taught the basics so far, and Credence and Modesty's time with Mr. Scamander had been spent listening to his ramblings about his magical beasts.

Credence had read some books from the Hogwarts library, but his reading was focused on Herbology. It was a straightforward subject that he could understand, and it reminded him of when the church had kept a war garden. He had liked helping Chastity tend to the vegetables--he felt a surge of guilt when he thought about her and he tried to suppress it.

Credence told Fawkes about not quite understanding, and Fawkes nodded, his beak dipping downward.

“I don't exactly understand it, either,” Fawkes admitted.  “I'm a young phoenix myself. I've never met other phoenixes before. Perhaps they've talked to shadow people before.”

“You haven't met other phoenixes? Not even your--mother phoenix when you hatched from your egg?”

“Albus found me when I was an egg,” Fawkes said. “He was researching phoenixes with Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel and I ended up hatching and imprinting on him as my master. My mother was gone, you see--a poacher had gotten to her.”

Credence nodded. He thought of his real mother, and then he thought of Mr. Scamander’s low, harried rants about unsavory poachers. “Phoenixes imprint on people. What if--you don't want--?”

“Oh, it's magical imprinting,” Fawkes said. “I owe him a debt and I'm happy to be in his service. He's very fair. Strange sweets to eat, relaxing Burning Days, and flights over the Forbidden Forest. He only takes me out whenever he wants to look impressive at ministry events or he wants an escape route from stuffy mansion parties where anti-Apparition wards are up. He leaves me alone for the most part.”

Credence felt slightly doubtful about Dumbledore being _fair_. There was a cool detachment in how Dumbledore regarded him; Credence supposed that attitude had something to do with the Obscurus.

It was all right, he decided, if Dumbledore was wary. It was a reasonable stance to take, and it wasn't as if Dumbledore was like how his mother had been with her constant denunciations of magic and the belt.

(It wasn't as if Dumbledore was... _him_ , even if there was something about him that was reminiscent of him. Credence fought down a shudder.)

Deciding to change the topic, Credence said, “Can you tell me about the Forbidden Forest? I've wondered how it’s like - Mr. Scamander would sometimes talk about the beasts he saw there as a student but never the surroundings.”

He'd been wondering about it, whenever he would sit on any of the castle’s window seats, a book in his lap and Fawkes settled beside him. He would glance at the Great Lake and the looming trees through the glass.

Fawkes made a shrill sound that Credence realized was a laugh. “Tell you about it! You can fly, can't you? We can go together. I'll show you.”

Credence stilled.

He thought of roaring, destructive blackness.

“I can’t,” he said. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. Not anymore. I can’t control it.”

“Nonsense,” Fawkes said, and suddenly, he surged forward, enveloping them in fire that didn’t burn.

They had been lounging out in the courtyard, sitting on stones warmed by the sun. But now they had appeared--Apparated--into the sky above, and Credence was _falling_ \--

He was a desperate bundle of robes and limbs, frozen as he plummeted downward face first. Fawkes flew in the air, squawking something at Credence that he couldn’t make out due to the air rushing past his ears and his heart rapidly beating in a way that pulsated through his entire body.

Wizards can _fly_ in normal ways, Credence found himself thinking as he continued falling to an undignified death.

They had brooms, which was one of the few things that his mother had actually gotten right in her anti-witchcraft lectures.

She had been wrong about what brooms were used for. Wizards and witches didn’t ride brooms to hover menacingly over God-fearing families’ houses while they cursed children. Instead, they rode brooms in sports where they whacked flying balls at each other with bats.

(Not that Mary Lou Barebone would have approved of sports, either. She had campaigned against Sunday baseball as fervently as she supported Prohibition.)

Credence was vaguely aware that Hogwarts had perfectly serviceable school brooms.

Fawkes didn’t have to drop him in the air and hope that Credence would turn into a dark fog behemoth that could kill people.

He could tell that Fawkes was starting to get concerned. The phoenix moved closer to Credence, ready to Apparate him back to safety, but abruptly, Credence finally felt it.

He felt the chill of the Obscurus bloom across his skin.

It was a dematerialization of his very being, melting into the form of an amorphous cloud with white glowing eyes. He had been falling and the Obscurus caught him, and now, on the edges of his shadows, Fawkes sent sparks of fire cascading through the mist.

It didn’t burn. They were flying together, interweaving blurs of dark and light, racing across the blue of the clear summer sky.

They twisted through branches of trees, leaves rustling in their wake. They drifted over the surface of the Great Lake, and Credence could feel the spray of water as they disturbed it.

Fawkes’ presence was a stabilizing force. Credence didn’t feel overwhelmed by grim anger and pain. He felt clear and alive.

They were a red and grey whirlwind. Credence thought he saw an owl halt mid-flight to stare at them with wide tawny eyes. Out of shock, it dropped a letter it had been clutching in its talons, but then it scrabbled, dove forward, and grasped it.

Credence laughed from within his shadows, and he realized he hadn’t laughed like this in a long time. It was the kind of laugh he had when he was a little boy, his shoulders still not as hunched over yet, his dark eyes bright, the Obscurial not quite settled into him yet.

He had laughed like this with Chastity in the war garden, singing silly songs as they tended to beets and peas. It was before they had taken in Modesty. Their mother was more occupied with the war effort with charity drives and rallies, and at the time, Credence and Chastity found ways to avoid her.

Fawkes let out a beautiful trilling sound that reverberated through Credence’s Obscurial form. Then he swept them both up in flames, depositing them to the ground once more.

Credence concentrated. It wasn’t hard this time. He felt his body reform and he tumbled onto the dewy grass. He was lying on his back, his hair tousled (his bowl cut had grown out) and his robes wrinkled.

“See, shadow boy?” Fawkes said, triumphantly.

Credence smiled, a brief pull at the edges of his mouth that disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.“I do have a name. Credence Barebone.”

“I know. It’s an awful name. I like ‘shadow boy’ better.”

“It’s not that bad,” Credence said, because he was used to it.

There was a Barebone somewhere in his mother’s family tree named If-Christ-had-not-died-for-thee-thou-hadst-been-damned Barebone. He had went by the name Nicolas.

Also, Credence thought, Fawkes’ owner was named Albus Dumbledore. But he decided not to bring it up in case he offended the phoenix.

He looked around, wondering where Fawkes had Apparated them. There was a small wooden hut in the clearing. It stood on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest.

“That’s where Ogg lives,” Fawkes said. “He gives me fish.”

Ogg? Then Credence remembered Dumbledore explaining who was currently present on the Hogwarts grounds.

Headmaster Dippet was on holiday for a research trip to study what further security measures Hogwarts could take because of Gellert Grindelwald. Dumbledore said someone named Horace had claimed he was doing something similar for potions research but he was probably attaching himself to the latest up and coming Quidditch player or dueler and making sure they went to important parties. Credence had blinked at Dumbledore’s wry matter-of-fact statement about this.

All in all, nearly all the other professors were gone, except Professor Gorse, the Herbology professor who stayed for her greenhouses; Professor Binns, who was a ghost; and Ogg, who was the groundskeeper.

Credence hadn’t seen Ogg yet. He had briefly met Professor Gorse, who had once interrupted Credence’s lessons with Dumbledore to cheerfully ask for advice how to best Transfigure an old rusted shovel into an inhabitable beehive.

(Fawkes hadn’t been fond of the small cloud of bees that had accompanied her. He’d snapped irate sparks in their direction, apparently annoyed by the incessant buzzing noise.)

Credence followed Fawkes to the hut and lingered by the doorway. He hoped they weren’t bothering the groundskeeper just because Fawkes wanted fish to eat.

Fawkes spared Credence the awkwardness of knocking. The phoenix whistled, three high-pitched notes, and he was greeted by three responding notes.

The door opened. Credence’s first impression was a wide-brimmed hat that was half-tipped forward on Ogg’s head. There was a feather on the top of the hat--one of Fawkes’, recognizable blazing red--and for some reason, that made Credence relax, realizing that Ogg was a friend of Fawkes’ after all.

Ogg looked like he was in his mid-thirties; he was tanned and wiry. He wore Muggle clothes: ragged pants that had seen better days and a blue blazer with tassels. While Professor Dumbledore had the look of an eccentric academic, neat in colorful robes, trim beard, half-moon spectacles, and his red hair pulled back into a careful ponytail, Ogg had the appearance of a hardened laborer.

“You must be the lad that Professor Dumbledore’s looking after. I’m Ogg, the groundskeeper,” he said to Credence. He doffed his hat toward Fawkes. “Hullo, Fawkes.”

“Credence,” he said. Credence didn’t have a hat to doff himself--some wizards and witches wore pointy hats, but they weren’t in fashion--so he settled for a hesitant nod. “I hope we’re not bothering you, sir.”

“It’s no trouble,” Ogg replied. “I was looking for Fawkes. There’s some strange business up in the forest that I think he can help with. And I caught this this morning.”

He waved his hand, and a fish flew from behind him, arcing into the air. Fawkes deftly caught it with his beak and ripped into it with his talons.

“He catches good fish,” Fawkes said, with his beak half-full. “I can’t catch my own fish here because fire and water don’t mix very well. And I would upset the merpeople and the Giant Squid.”

Credence was about to mention how Mr. Scamander had told stories about the Giant Squid, but he remembered that--well. He was talking to a phoenix in front of Ogg, and people weren’t supposed to nominally understand phoenixes.

He explained it to Ogg quickly and hoped that the groundskeeper believed him. Saying that he was an Obscurial, however, made him grimace, his voice low and his eyes averted to the ground.

To his surprised, Ogg accepted the explanation in a stride and didn’t seem intimidated.

“Magic works in bizarre ways,” he said with a shrug. “Y’know, the Forbidden Forest is full of strange things, lad. Centaurs with their stargazing mumbo jumbo. Sentient bees that Gorse managed to tame. Did you know that there’s a hag down in the forest? Noisy neighbor, that one, can’t get rid of her because of some longstanding contract she made with the Founders centuries ago. Ever since she discovered the radio and how to make it work within Hogwarts’ magical boundaries, she blasts that damned thing too loud and that makes for lousy hunting.”

“She has a terrible taste in music, too,” Fawkes put in. Credence translated that for Ogg, and the groundskeeper grunted in agreement.

“The best music is birdsong,” Ogg said. “We whistle some tunes back in forth, Fawkes and me.”

“Er,” Credence said, abruptly recalling reading the draft of Mr. Scamander’s book. “Don’t hags eat children, sir? Why is there one near a school?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ogg said. “I don’t think the Founders would have made a contract with her if she posed a danger to the students. There’s never been any incidents before, at least not when I’ve been here.”

That...did not sound completely reassuring. Credence frowned, and he resolved to tell Modesty to not go into the Forbidden Forest alone.

He was right in doubting the Founders’ judgment, by the way.

Besides the obvious Salazar Slytherin having a monster in the Chamber of Secrets that could eat children issue, Rowena Ravenclaw was the one who came up with Hogwarts’ ridiculous shifting floor plan that could drop students into a bottomless abyss, and Helga Hufflepuff had been renowned for including mandatory dire badger riding lessons on her curriculum. It was Godric Gryffindor who decided that having a hag as a neighbor would be hilarious. And there was that time he tickled a sleeping dragon.

Anyway, Ogg ushered Credence and Fawkes into his hut and began to explain the problem in the Forbidden Forest.

The conversation that followed was a complicated back-and-forth consisting of Ogg describing, Fawkes chirping in his input, and Credence translating.

It came down to this: There was a Council of the Birds tonight.

When Credence relayed the conclusion to Ogg about the Council, according to Fawkes, the groundskeeper nodded as if that made everything clear.

“What’s a Council of the Birds?” Credence asked with a frown, as they left Ogg’s hut.

“An unkindness,” Fawkes said. “A murder. But for all the birds of the Forbidden Forest.” He let out a cackle, a sharp phoenix laugh. It was a joke that Credence didn’t understand.

“Terms of venery,” Fawkes went on to say. “It’s how you describe a group of animals. An unkindness of ravens. A murder of crows. A parliament of rooks. A convent of penguins. They don’t have one for phoenixes, which is a shame.”

“I could ask Mr. Scamander to come up with one. He’s writing a book about magical creatures.”

Fawkes perked up. “Tell him, shadow boy! Make sure that it’s something memorable and legend-worthy. A _constellation_ of phoenixes. A _legion_ of phoenixes. An _odyssey_ of phoenixes.”

Credence thought about how Mr. Scamander had a Thunderbird named Frank and a Bowtruckle named Tom and hoped that Fawkes’ expectations weren’t too high.

“Why is there a Council?” Credence asked, finally.

“That’s what we’re about to find out,” Fawkes said, sweeping himself up in fire, and there was nothing else for Credence to do except melt back into shadow and follow.

* * *

 

The sun was starting to set by the time that Fawkes plummeted down toward a clearing that was deep in the heart of the Forbidden Forest. Credence barreled after him, the smoky black of the Obscurus coalescing into his human form.

Dusk cast a pall over the clearing. The last of the sunlight swept over the multitude of birds that filled the surroundings.

There were jet black crows, bright blue and orange kingfishers, grey and white geese, and countless other birds, big and small. They stood in the grasses, wings rustling and beaks bobbing.

Owls seemed to make up a large part of the crowd--”From Hogwarts’ owlery,” Fawkes confided to Credence, “because they like to keep up with the Forest news. Some of the birds don’t like them, though, and say they’re domesticated. There’s nothing wrong with being close to humans, if you ask me.”

“You only say that because you’re not in danger of being hunted,” said a white bird with black-tipped wings and a long bill who had overheard their conversation. “Phoenixes. Owls.”

She strode off indignantly. Fawkes made a rude gesture with his talons.

Credence blinked. “I didn’t know I could understand other birds now.”

“That’s all my doing,” piped up a high-pitched voice, and a tiny brown bird fluttered next to them.

“Your Majesty,” Fawkes said, flustered, a sudden flame flickering through his feathered coat. He quickly dropped his talons, curling them back around Credence’s shoulder. “Queen Wren.”

The birds had a monarchy?

The small bird fixed her beady dark eyes on Credence. “I consulted the centaurs and they said that if we held a Council, we would find the answers to our current problems. I believe you’re the one who can help us.”

 _Me?_ Credence thought, wondering if the wren had him confused with someone else. Surely she meant Fawkes.

He was barely a wizard, only capable of the simplest spells, and his ability with the Obscurus wasn’t so much an ability as a volatile illness. Today Fawkes’ presence seemed like the only thin barrier between control and utter annihilation.

“I will give you two gifts,” Queen Wren said, oblivious to Credence’s inner turmoil. “First, you will know the language of birds. If you call for them and invoke my name, they will be willing to assist you for this quest.

“Second, I will give you watchful eyes. There is a human who wants you for your shadow, does he not?”

Credence started, and he found that his hands were trembling, as if he could feel another hand passing over them, healing them softly. Fawkes noticed his distress, and he said a quiet musical note out loud, wordless but comforting.

“In the future, the birds will watch your back,” Queen Wren continued. “They will tell you when to run.”

Credence was...stunned at the moment. He had no idea how he was supposed to respond or what quest he was supposed to go on in the first place.

He wanted to refuse, but there was something in Queen Wren’s tone that was a demand rather than a request. Credence wasn’t British but it seemed sensible not to refuse a queen, even if she was a bird.

It wasn’t like he was entirely alone because Fawkes was right here, and perhaps he _could_ ask Ogg for help, since the gameskeeper seemed friendly enough. He could write to Mr. Scamander, too.

“Thank you,” he said, swallowing. “I’ll try.”

* * *

 

Queen Wren took them to a tree, and it was there where another wren perched, preening in front of a small mirror propped against the trunk.

“Prince Wren,” Fawkes said, identifying the bird for Credence’s benefit.

Prince Wren’s gaze was fixed on his own reflection, drawn to his own beady eyes. He cooed at himself, drew his feathers out, and he seemed entrapped, entranced, spinning and dancing in the same place. It was, Credence thought, like some kind of mad prayer.

“He is infatuated with that mirror,” Queen Wren said. “We do not know how it came to be here. We have tried to take it away, but it always returns to him. Even if we shatter it or take it out of the forest, it always appears back in its place, unbroken.”

“The mirror is cursed,” Fawkes concluded. “Or perhaps Prince Wren is cursed himself.”

“Yes,” Queen Wren said. She dipped her beak downward. “You must break the spell.”

Credence frowned thoughtfully. Was he meant to look for a countercurse in the Hogwarts library? There were so many books; there ought to be a spell somewhere that could help.

Then Queen Wren answered Credence’s question for him. “You must go to the hag of the Forbidden Forest.”

Silence.

“Must we?” Fawkes said. Credence wondered if he was hearing right, because he realized that Fawkes’ tone was one of an petulant child. “ _Ma’am._ ”

“I know,” she said, sounding exasperated as well. “She’s a nuisance. But the centaur said that you must.”

“Her music--”

“Fawkes.”

“Fine,” Fawkes grumbled. “One day, an Auror will actually do something about the noise complaints that I made Ogg file on our behalf. Albus was right, the Ministry is useless.”

“Ah, the hag of the Forbidden Forest,” said another chirping voice, and a bird flew to join them. He was also a wren, with a strip of white on his side feathers. “The bane of our lives. Moreso with me, because I had a quarrel with her a long while back. And did you know, her radio is a more modern upgrade from the usual? She used to be drinking buddies with Godric Gryffindor and Helga Hufflepuff and they’d sing the most awful songs. It was a nightmare--Hufflepuff would ride her dire badger drunk through the forest.”

 _That_ was certainly a bizarre image. Credence had seen statues of Hufflepuff and Gryffindor at Hogwarts and they had seemed regal and poised.

“So you’re here to help our son,” continued the new wren. King Wren. He looked at Credence and Fawkes intently.

“Yes--Your Majesty,” Credence said.

“Good. He’s extraordinarily foolish, that one. Even before this obsession came on, he displayed a disappointing lack of attention in his royal duties. Always exploring the forest and getting friendly with the hag.”

“Come now,” Queen Wren said, shaking her head. “It’s not the time for this.”

King Wren sighed, then abruptly said, “I must go. The rest of the Council is waiting for me.” He darted off, a flurry of brown feathers.

“Maybe that’s why the centaur wants us to see the hag,” Fawkes said. “She could’ve cursed him.”

Queen Wren made a concerned churring sound. “That could be. Find the truth, Fawkes, shadow boy. Free my son.”

* * *

 

Fawkes seemed to sense that Credence felt too exhausted to fly, so he Apparated them in a burst of fire to the hag’s doorstep.

It was surprisingly anticlimactic.

Credence had been expecting a cave, but instead they were faced by a cozy-looking wood cabin. The cabin was much nicer than Ogg’s hut. In the darkness of night, it glowed orange and yellow, firelight or candlelight shining out of the windows.

Hags, Credence thought, were what his mother and the rest of the New Salemers thought regular witches and wizards were. _They_ were the ones who attacked children and looked like menacing, inhuman creatures.

Credence thought back to today’s events that dragged him out onto this strange quest and regretted--maybe everything. Except flying.

Before Credence could knock, the door flew open. The hag peered up at him, her hair a frizzy black streaked with grey. She had piercing blue eyes, and a single wart dotted her cheek.

Warily, she said, “You’re not a child, are you?”

Credence shook her head mutely.

“Ah, perfect,” she said. “I’m allergic to children.”

Credence couldn’t help letting out an incredulous cough.

“It’s true,” the hag said. “I was the laughingstock of the other hags during my youth. Children are the staple of our diet, and yet--that. It’s the only reason why I can live near a school. I have to settle for animal organs instead.”

“Being around children gives her hives,” Fawkes said, too cheerfully, as the hag ushered them both into the cabin. He paused to hiss at a radio that was set on a small table.

The hag shot the phoenix a dirty look.

Credence, however, was distracted by the rows and rows of flowers that were lined up on the cabin walls, set in pots. It wasn’t firelight or candlelight that had made the cabin glow, he realized, but it was the flowers themselves.

They were magical flowers or enchanted flowers. There were some that looked like ordinary Muggle flowers, sunflowers shining bright yellow, roses gleaming blood red. But there were magical ones, too, like an umbrella flower with mushroom-shaped petals.

“That one looks like how your hair used to be,” Fawkes said about the latter. “Mr. Scamander owled Albus a photograph a while back. It’s good that you haven’t cut it.”

A bird is mocking my old haircut, Credence thought. Why is a bird mocking my old haircut?

The hag snorted. “Don’t listen to him. He thinks he’s important because he’s the only phoenix in these woods. Merlin, I almost had a phoenix of my own once upon a time, and I bet they would’ve knocked him down a peg.”

“Or I could have a mate.”

“No phoenix of mine would ever have you as a mate,” the hag said serenely.

Credence quickly interrupted. “I’m Credence. We’re here about Prince Wren, Miss--?”

The hag waved her hand in dismissal. “Kassandra. Call me Kassandra. I know why you’re here. I’ve heard all the gossip from the ravens.”

“You didn’t curse the prince, did you?” Credence asked.

“Of course not. I may have had a bit of a falling-out with this forest’s ridiculous bird royalty, but I wouldn’t curse that little runt.”

“So who did it?” Fawkes said. “Any rival birds?”

“I’ll give you a hint if you do me a favor,” Kassandra said.

“Allergy potions? I don’t think we should enable you, old hag.”

“Shut up, bird,” Kassandra said with a glare. She turned her eyes to Credence and there was something softer, sympathetic in her gaze. “I need you to make an addition to my collection of flowers. You’re an interesting one...I could sense your shadow the moment you stood outside my home.”

“You wish for me to bring you--a flower.”

“Pluck one from the Forbidden Forest or the Hogwarts greenhouses,” Kassandra said. “Imbue it with your own magic. These flowers here in my cabin are not ordinary flowers, Credence Barebone - they function like pensevies. They are filled with memories, parts of history.”

Credence recalled what King Wren and Ogg had said about Kassandra. “Like the Founders?”

“My work started with them, yes,” Kassandra said. “I came up with the project with Helga. It was very much like her, intensely practical. She wanted a sort of failsafe if anything happened to the Hogwarts library.

“Those were dark times back then, wizards and witches and magical beings and creatures living in fear alike of Muggles. Helga liked the idea of a record living on if Hogwarts was ever attacked and magical documents lost. There’s a kind of deeper magic about this flower business - every so often, someone will wander into my cabin and leave a memory. I don’t ask them to come, but they end up on my doorstep anyway.”

“I’m not a Founder,” Credence said. “I don’t have much to offer, Miss--Kassandra.”

“You’re an Obscurial,” Kassandra said. “Look at you, boy. Still here, still alive.”

 _For now_ , Credence thought.

* * *

 

Back at Hogwarts, Credence slept fitfully. It was not unusual because he was used to nightmares, restless imaginings of darkness pouring out of his throat and strangling him.

Fawkes had returned to join Dumbledore in his quarters. Credence was alone in the infirmary, one of the beds made up for him; Modesty had been sleeping elsewhere in the castle, choosing different room after room every night.

This nightmare was not of the darkness outright. Instead it was a dream of soft hands, touching here, the back of his neck--here, the lines of his palm--here, curve of his cheek. He moved into the warmth of the touches, and made a quiet desperate sound like a prayer. Then the hands drew back, and he was left shivering, cold shadows enveloping him, and he thought, _fire, I need fire_ \--

He woke up to blazing warmth. Morning light gleamed through the half-drawn window curtain behind him.

Fawkes perched on his bedside, blinked at him, and said, “Ready to go to the greenhouses today, shadow boy?” and Credence found himself nearly laughing, dazed, grateful, and he told Fawkes he was, but only after breakfast.

**Author's Note:**

> \--So, this chapter has been in my drafts for awhile and I'm just going to post it. Unfortunately, the thing is, this fic is probably going to be abandoned because I'm so burnt out working on my Fantastic Beasts longfic (The Prometheus Exchange, which _is_ finished) and this particular fic is really not my usual style of writing. IDK if I have it in me to continue. I'm sorry D:


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